


ravaged

by yanderemonoma



Series: request collection [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Blood and Injury, Burns, Child Abuse, Father/Son Incest, Heavy Angst, Humiliation, Incest, M/M, Mindbreak, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Parent/Child Incest, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Punishment, Sexual Violence, Tears, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25455052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanderemonoma/pseuds/yanderemonoma
Summary: Zuko has faced his punishment. Now, in front of the entire nation, Ozai gives him a chance to... redeem himself.
Relationships: Ozai/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: request collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792486
Comments: 4
Kudos: 191
Collections: Ozai





	ravaged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JadeOcean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeOcean/gifts).



> for the darling JadeOcean~ deadass i can not believe this concept didn't already exist on ao3, lol.
> 
> read those tags :D

Zuko’s howls fill the stadium. And with them, the air changes.

Besides that horrendous sound, it is otherwise silent. Every man, woman, and child within the place stills, frozen within that scream, their eyes all wide and locked upon his writhing and ravaged body. 

Zuko can feel them all. Their collective, judicial gaze that pierces like needles digging into the skin and dragging, gouging, flaying. He’s in so much pain. It blinds him, and no one lifts a finger as he thrashes about, pawing wildly at the fire that destroys his face until all that’s left is steaming, cooking flesh and a weeping mess of tears.

His howls finally start to melt into a pathetic wail after a few moments without those awful flames. Clutching to his face, he collapses into whimpers and whines, drowning in a red hot agony that glowers through every vein, pulsing and stinging. The silence that responds is glaring, and far too loud, and just on the other side of it, he could hear his father’s footsteps, heavy against the stone platform they stand on as he closes the distance between them once again, his fists curling at his sides once they’d finished their heinous deed.

He stands above him. He could feel it in the weight of his shadow as it falls over him, a powerful dominance that makes his whimpers immediately start to choke themselves away.

“Settle,” Ozai orders, hardly an emotion in his voice even after all he’s done, and that understanding presses another gash through his chest as he realizes just how _easy_ it was for him to administer this punishment. He’s hardly even phased. He hardly trembles.

Fluid leaks down his face from under his hands, tears tinged with an awful, oozing red. “Father,” he begs. 

Ozai ignores him. 

He turns, moving to face the unabating crowds. His eyes glide over the faces of his kingdom, boring into each and every gaze he meets, his own expression a hard and unrelenting steel. After a huff, he only straightens before addressing the audience, his voice booming over, rolling across the stadium like a clap of thunder.

“If anyone else dare leave, they will suffer the same fate as their prince,” Ozai warns.

He wonders what he means. Rolling over, Zuko follows his father’s gaze, raising his head and raising one unruined eye towards the stadium seats, and he spots Iroh’s chair, vacant and abandoned. 

The emotion that wells in him seeing that is indescribable. Was he _ashamed_ of him? Was his weakness too unbearable to truly witness? Was it his _grief_ , the same grief that made him a disgrace in his father’s eyes, and in _his_ father’s, too? Was-

The thought vanishes as he’s suddenly wrenched upwards. Ozai buries his fingers in his hair, yanking him high enough to force him to shamble onto his knees to ease the strain.

“You were a fool to ask for mercy, my son,” Ozai snarls out suddenly, “but I will offer you the opportunity to be granted my charity. Would you ask for my forgiveness? Would you earn it?”

“Please,” he whimpers, blindly as he squirms, tears skimming down his face. “I’ll... do anything.” 

Ozai doesn’t leave him with an answer. He simply drops him to the floor again, eyes boring down as he frowns.

“Turn around, Prince Zuko,” he orders slowly. 

... He does. His hesitance is brought only by the blaze of pain still coating his face, the way it forces a throb through his whole body with every movement and every press of the air that rests upon it. He turns around, still on his hands and knees like he still means to grovel, and...

The bliss of ignorance. He still doesn’t quite understand what’s about to happen. No thoughts are in his head instead of how willing he is to continue, how desperate he is to gather that benevolence into himself again. The shame hurts almost as much as the burns. 

And then Ozai reaches down. 

He reaches for him, his huge hands coming to rest on his waist. 

Then, in one swift movement, he strips him, ripping his pants down from the hem and tossing them away.

The stadium stays silent. 

Something halts and twists in Zuko’s chest, his breath rushing out of him in a gasp as he finds his naked body almost collapsing to the ground in an instant from the shock. A violent sear of humiliation rushes through him, warping everything inside him like a plague, the feeling of being _exposed_ so awfully in front of his people, in front of the people he’s meant to _rule_ one day, burning through him. 

But still, he doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t suspect.

After all, how could he?

As cruel as this lesson is, he can’t expect the unspeakable. And, in all honesty, being stripped down the way he is, he imagines a punishment far more reminiscent of the juvenile. A spanking, somehow, a whipping, a flogging, the whistling _smack_ of something threshed against his skin. 

What he receives is far worse.

There’s a sound he starts to hear, from behind him. Slow, then quick, then slow again, the rough, rubbing friction of skin against skin and the faint rustle of fabric that seems to echo all across the stadium. He frowns at the sound, squirming in that same, stubborn pain, and suddenly winces as his father’s voice rumbles out, low and ravenous.

“Don’t any of you look away,” he commands, the power in his voice growing with every word, like a curse. “Do not rob yourself the pleasure. This... is how it looks to be absolved.”

He reaches down, grabbing him and spreading his cheeks. A gasp tears from him, and before he could move or even _hope_ to react further, something hot and wet spatters onto his hole and he tenses violently, all at once, every muscle clenching as that filthy wad of spit starts to drip and drip down.

“F-father,” Zuko whimpers out, horrified. “What are you d-doing?”

All that answers him is a growl and the sudden probing of something blunt and hot against him, unfamiliar and sinister. It’s dizzying and it’s _painful_ , the way his blood freezes in his veins, countering the bloody, blistering heat still making a home on his face. It’s so horrified he could hardly breathe, heartbeat wrenching up in pace, pounding in his ears as panic suddenly races through him.

He just can’t understand what his father is thinking. Something like this... something like _this?_ How, and where, could this possibly have come from? Why here? Why now?

_Why?_

“... Wait...” he tries to pant out. “This... this isn’t what I _meant--”_

“You’ve tried to run once already, Zuko,” Ozai snarls in his ears. “I won’t let you run from me again.”

He pierces through. 

Zuko gasps, a sharp, ragged intake of breath that rips its way through his ribcage as that blunt _thing_ forces itself past tight, unprepared muscle. Ozai rams his hips against him with no mercy, cock spearing deep into his guts and ripping him open with a scream that’s so loud he tastes blood in the back of his throat as he lets it out. 

He slumps. In an instant, as his insides writhe with sickness and contort around this savage intrusion, he completely collapses, weak with agony and an all-consuming, omniscient despair. Zuko chokes down the words he so desperately wants to sob out, and they become a crushing, insane pressure in his chest, no, _no, no no no no **no...**_

Ozai doesn’t give him time. He thrusts hard, just the once, and his whole body rocks with it, a sharp cry leaving him as he’s hallowed out further. It hurts.

It _hurts!_

“Please!” The word bursts from his mouth without his say, an animal plea for reprieve. “Please, _please_ , ple-- _gghk_ \--”

Another slam of his hips brings his pleading into an awful retch, and Zuko shudders as his father starts to pound and pound. Without even a response to latch onto, Zuko bursts into soft cries, head lowered to the ground as tears stream down his face, gathering in a thick and bloodied puddle underneath him. 

And then Ozai’s fist curls into his hair, fingers catching the once beautiful knot its been decorated into. He yanks and another shout leaves him as he’s wrenched up into a far more painful position, his back forced to arch, face presented and on _**display**. _

On...

His eyes widened. He’d almost forgotten, or, blocked it out, somehow, but now he can’t turn away, now he can’t help but _see_. His kingdom, his people, all with their eyes on him. 

He stops breathing.

Everywhere he looks, he sees them. 

His eyes twitch to the left, he catches the glimpse of a boy, a young soldier, his face pale and contorted with horror, nausea, torment. 

His eyes dart to the right, and a man meets his gaze, primal gleam in his eyes as he practically drools at the sight, leaning forward in his chair to watch. 

He glances forward - and his sister’s face is the only thing he can see.

She smiles at him. Azula _smiles_. It’s grotesque, her red lips stretched wide across her face, a manic sadism painted over every inch of her expression, like it’s the best thing she’s ever seen in her life. Like she wants to laugh, or join in, anything to make it _worse_. 

A sob hiccups from him, mind blank except for _that_ thought. They all want to laugh at him. They all want to make this worse. That’s why they don’t look away, that’s why every single gaze hurts and pierces and cuts, deeper with every thrust, until there’s hundreds, thousands of piercing, wounding spears goring him apart. That’s why they don’t _help_. 

His suffering is their entertainment, and he’s become nothing but its slave. 

Zuko shatters.

Limp and broken, he only returns to his pathetic bawling as Ozai only fucks him harder, indifferent to his anguish. Ignoring him easily, he continues to batter him, every thrust increasing in its savagery until he lets out a growl, a pleasured groan quickly following after as he releases the hold on his hair to grab hold of his hips, his fingers bruising as they clutch to the bones and bring Zuko’s body slamming back into him with every plunge forward. 

Like everything else, he can’t possibly expect it when it happens. Ozai slams his hips into him for the last time before a sudden warmth explodes into him. The man himself is silent, or maybe Zuko just can’t hear him under his own desperate noises, an anxious little keen leaving him as he’s filled that quickly dissolves into a pathetic whimper, followed by another, followed by another. Like an abused pup, he only whines and shudders as Ozai finally stills, letting him feel every pulse of his cock as he empties into him before finally withdrawing with a sudden shove away from him.

Fluid rushes down his legs, a mess of blood and cum. 

His legs shake, arms giving way in an instant. 

Without his father’s grip on him holding him steady, Zuko falls apart, crumpling to the ground with a sound that is almost anticlimactic, it’s so sad, so soft and fragile.

That mess spreads out from under him slowly with an indifference far too reminiscent of oozing roadkill. Ozai stands before his fallen son, his face bathed in shadow, though in that shadow, a soft smirk is clearly carved just under the darkness. He fixes himself, tucking himself in his pants as the stadium is forced to gawk on, filled with nothing but Zuko’s quiet, stifled sobs.

“Now rise...” Ozai demands once he’s done. “Rise and thank your firelord for the grace he’s given you.”

He can’t.

Zuko doesn’t even try.

There’s so much pain. The disfigurement that sits on his face is a whole separate entity from the agony of his lower half. He feels split apart, cleaved in two, left in pieces that will never gather into the same person again.

“Zuko.”

Never again. He can’t imagine leaving this floor, let alone facing anybody again. They all watched, all witnessed it, their judgement all the same as his father’s. Would they all do the same to him, too? Would they all mock him, or scorn him, be too ashamed of his ugliness, his fragility? How could anyone love him like this, scarred and soiled? How could anyone even dare to look?

“ _Prince Zuko--”  
_

This is what he deserves as a failure, he thinks. He deserves to be ruined. It hurts so much, everything his father has done. It’s never going to stop hurting. He knows this. He should just be left to rot.

He starts sobbing again.

Ozai makes a small, disgusted scoffing sound under his breath. “Fine,” he scoffs. “Disregard me. Throw away your penance.” He turns to his guards, watching the fray with the same strange mix of sorrow, horror and perversion that decorates the faces of the entire audience. “Get him out of my sight. He’s brought enough shame upon us all. Get him _out--”_

They drag him off. 

And this time, as he’s taken, and hidden away, ravaged casually by men rushing for the sloppy scraps their lord has so generously left them, Zuko hardly lets out a sound.


End file.
